


The Blacksmith's Daughter

by TiffsRevenge



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dirty Thoughts, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Eating out, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light BDSM, Lust, Lust at First Sight, Mad King Ryan Haywood, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rough Oral Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, turnwood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 07:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiffsRevenge/pseuds/TiffsRevenge
Summary: Megara Turn was a no one. A blacksmith's daughter. Another girl in a tiny town on the edge of a forest. Another girl in a kingdom ruled by a man that few respected but many feared. A man whose attention was only gained through violence and pretty face.But who, will win in this war.





	1. Attention

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I've been working on with a lot of encouragement from my amazing store team at RTX London <3

She couldn’t see anything, the burlap covering scratched roughly at the skin of her nose and cheeks as she was dragged over the cold stones, her shoes barely catching in the cracks cause thin scraps and cuts to cover her ankles and knees.

The guards responsible for her capture suddenly paused. She could hear the mutterings as they spoke to others in front of them but the blood pounding in her ears blocked out the actual words being said. A loud scrapping was the signal for her to be dragged forward again stone giving way to carpet, the soft rug burning her skin until she was eventually thrown to her knees landing with a thud that knocked the air from her lungs.

A slight chuckle filled the air around her, as she was yanked upright, light flooding her sight as the sack was pulled from her head. 

Meg shook the hair from her eyes, fighting the fear that filled her lungs as she followed the carpet up to a grand throne. The throne itself was made of black stone which reflected purple specks in the varying sun and torch light, its arms made of carved gold that depicted large bulls with deep ruby eyes and snarls that could shake any man to their core. Its seat was filled with various furs and pelts creating a soft warm cushion for the king that sprawled its surface.  
Meg stared at him. Long legs wrapped in dark leather boots and white topped socks gave way to a luscious kilt of dark reds and golds, the folds creating an enticing darkness as he lounged. The shirt he wore was expensive yet hung from his lean muscles to reveal the slight hair of his chest. He lent forward to get a better look at Meg, his eyes gleaming curiously, with a small quirk of a scarred eyebrow he laughed. His deep bass echoed through the hallway mockingly, knocking him backward and causing the large crown atop his head to tilt slightly.

“Guards! Guards you can’t be serious,” he breathed, trying to hold back the laughter that shook in his chest causing the shirt to ripple over the muscles. “I told you to bring me the man responsible for the disappearance of my guards, and you bring me this... this child!” the king let out another laugh, slipping down in the chair almost allowing Meg a full view up his kilt had she not lowered her completely.

“My king, she has admitted to the charges, we had other witnesses who have placed her at the location,” one the guards defended respectively. Taking a slight step back as the king suddenly sat up right, leaning on his knees as he stared down at the guard. 

Meg couldn’t help but be drawn to his power, his whole demeanour seemed to shift, the gleaming mischief in his eyes replaced by a darkness that held thousands of threats, promises, and executions. Where most people would be intimidated by his gaze Meg found herself unable to look away.

“Girl!” he called, his voice husky, “what is your name?” he asked. Meg stared at him, she’d heard rumours of the King’s odd behaviour and past times. Stories of young maidens disappearing from their homes, their families left a bloody slaughter while the maiden was rumoured to have been taken; locked in the keep for the King’s own twisted pleasures.

A swift kicked to her back launched her forward,

“Your King asked you a question whore,” the guard ordered. Meg turned to stare at him attempting to push herself up only to be grasped firmly by the shoulders and shoved further down.

“Jeremy! Leave her,” the King ordered staring the guard down as he back away, “Do you wish to stand?” he ask, addressing Meg directly.  
Meg looked up at the king again, he still hummed with the same dark energy but a faint kindness flared behind his gaze. Meg nodded pushing herself in to a standing position before bowing as best she could.

“My King, my Lord. My name is Megara Turn, I am a blacksmith’s daughter from the town beside the forest. Your kingdom had bought from us for years, before you tried to outsource your weaponry, I just wanted to prove, my Lord, that our weapons are the highest caliber you shall ever find,” Meg was amazed at the smoothness of her vice when the reality was her heart beating a mile a minute and her legs shaking so badly she didn’t quite know how she was standing.

“And so you killed my men and displayed their bodies rather than requesting an audience?” the King asked, his demeanour had become rather bemused as he looked down at the small woman. She’d barely come up to his chest if he stood beside her, and had a face so pure it could be mistaken for that of a child. And yet, here was admitting to killing three, armed and trained guards of the Keep.

“In my experience, my Lord, a requested audience gets you nothing. I required your attention and, well, I believe I accomplished that,” Meg looked around her. Guards and people of the court stared at her in slightly shock, she’d openly admitted to murder and yet the King was sat in his throne smirking down at her.

There seemed to be hours of silence during which the simply sat gazing at Meg. Her heart sat pounding in her throat while her legs threatened to give out at any second. The whole court seemed to share her confusion when the King stood and began to make his way down the twenty or so steps, the guards shifting warily beside her. Meg could feel their movement as the air grew thicker with every advancing step that the King took. 

Now that he was stood Meg could make out the luscious red cape that swept behind him, the black fur trim just long enough to dust the tops of the stairs as he walked. His hair was a sandy colour, almost gold enough in the torch light to blend with the still crooked crown that lay atop it. The King stopped just a few feet in front of Meg, pausing for a second before waving for the guards to remove the heavy metal cuffs from her wrists. They did so quietly, the hesitation almost palpable in the air as they did, once her hands was free Meg rubbed her wrist lightly already feeling the warm heat of welt that were brewing under the skin. Continuing his gaze the King waved again, only this time the court’s people and guards slowly moved leaving the chamber with mixed emotions filling their faces. Only once the court was empty did the King move again, circling her slowly as though getting ready to pounce.

Meg fought to keep her head up; hands by her sides, but under the King’s heated gaze she felt naked. Every strip of cloth and leather that covered her curves was stripped away leaving her exposed and defenceless. He didn’t again until he was behind her.

“So, Megara,” he spoke, his voice curling around her name in such a way that a chill ran down her spine and threatened at her already close to buckling knees, “how is it, that a woman, such as yourself, managed to take down three of my guards alone? Surely you had accomplices,” it was barely a question but Meg answered anyway, staring straight ahead at the dancing colours of his throne.

“I’m a skilled fighter my Lord, as one of my father’s only daughters he thought it important to teach me, a blacksmith should be able to carry and fight with any weapon they create,” Meg’s voice sounded dry to her own ears, her tongue sticky as she attempted to form the words, she could still feel the King behind her and the thought made her shake slightly, she couldn’t be sure why.

“I make you nervous,” the King said, his breath shifting a few of the loose hairs as it skimmed her ear. Meg fought the urge to jump from him, how had he gotten so close without her noticing, she couldn’t show any form of nerve though, not even when his fingers traced up her arm. 

His touch was so light that it could’ve been a breeze but the heat that worked across her shoulder and neck left her wanting and she found herself moving toward his touch unconsciously. Too soon his hand was snapped away leaving goosebumps in its wake, but the King stayed behind, reworking his previous statement,

“Do, I make you nervous?” he asked, his voice low but deep enough that it drown out every other one of Meg’s senses.

“No, my Lord,” Meg choked, thankful that she could now see the King from the corner of her eye as he observed her. His weight shifting from one foot to another as he scanned her body, a single finger to his lips which quirked in to a one sided smile.

“No?” he questioned, a small laugh escaping his throat before he continued, moving back around Meg so he could watch her face, “I seem to be losing my touch then, most people would be terrified after the stories that are told of me and my reign.”

Meg gazed at him, “Your stories are magnificent my Lord, my father told them to me growing up. How you took the throne from a family of the finest fighters and left this very hall coated in blood from ceiling to floor,” the story had been a favourite of Meg’s growing up, and had become one of the reasons for the hours of training she pushed herself to do. If a rich body could defeat a family of the best fighters the kingdom had known then that meant that she had to be better than them.  
“I wish to show you something Megara,” the King said finally, clapping his hands and turning his back to her, “come,” he ordered simply, gesturing with a single finger as he moved to the back of his throne. Meg followed unsure of what else to do or what the consequences would be if she didn’t do as he said.

The back of the throne was somehow just as regal as the front, the deep black/purple stone continued on the back but was engraved with depictions of herds of horned beasts rampaging out of the back of the throne, two larger oxen stood on their hind legs either side, their horns pointing up toward the sky which was filled with jewels of all sizes in blacks, reds, greens, and large golden nuggets that seemed to explode like stars. 

Everything was lined in gold work but the things that the King seemed most pleased about was the golden pillars, bumpy and irregular in texture Meg couldn’t quite make out what they were until she looked closer.  
“Do you know what these are Megara?” the King asked gleeful, smiling up at the towers of skulls that had been covered in pure gold and stacked to create an arch that covered the back of the throne.

“Sk...skulls? My Lord...” Meg was at a loss for words, what was he trying to tell her. Was she to join them? Was he just showing off that he had that most wealth that he could have human skulls plated in gold.

“Well yes they are skulls, but more importantly these are the skulls of every great and capable fighter I have beaten in duels to the death,” he was boasting, looking up at the macabre decoration with such admiration that you would think he was looking at the most beautiful woman or his own offspring, 

“Would you care to join them?” he asked suddenly, drawing his sword from the hilt at his hip in one smooth movement moving himself far enough back that the tip just grazed the centre hollow of Meg’s throat.

Meg was frozen to the spot. Her body no longer shaking but no filled with lead as the blade’s weight rested lightly between her collar bones it’s point pricking at the skin and drawing a single drop of blood. Suddenly the King let out a hearty laugh, his sword lowering as he changed his grip and allowed it to fall softly back in to its hilt.

“Now now my dear rabbit, that wouldn’t be fair would it,” he laughed, enjoying the wide-eyed fear that had flooded Meg’s face, “no, I may be the Mad King but I am still fair, so,” with a loud clap of his hands the double doors at the back of the court opened and through opening spilled over thirty servants, each bowed to the King as he moved toward them a large grin on his face as he turned back to Meg.

“You shall have complete use of my armoury and weaponry, my servants here are to help you get ready and cloth you appropriately for our duel this twilight, I expect you to be ready then in the duelling circle, my servants shall escort you,” the King reeled off, he’d done this before and as he spoke he moved down the hallway, his line of servants following behind him like a wave already catching the various items of clothing he shed on the way. Meanwhile Meg remained dumbfound and rooted to the spot, the mix of male and female servants watching her with woeful looks.

“Hurry my dear Megara Turn, with every second your fate becomes more and more predictable,” the King warned, his voice echoing down the stone corridor as he vanished around a corner. 

Awestruck Meg allowed herself to be led down the same hall by two of the servants who had taken her hands lightly. The next couple hours were a blur of measurements and fittings. She’d be stripped of her clothing the moment she had stepped foot inside the first room, with three women brushing her hair and fastening it in to a tight plait that curled around her head like a strange crown, while men measured what felt like every inch of her body.

Again, she was led to another room where she was dressed in dark skinned pelts that hugged her skin tightly allowing for the light weight chain metal to fitted before being topped with a armour that she’d never seen before. 

The metal itself was thin, coating her chest and upper back as well as her leading arm while the rest of her torso was covered with a dark leather. The scales themselves moved in a smooth way, similar way to a dragon’s yet, they felt delicate enough that Meg was worried she snap it if she moved too harshly. A small question later and Meg was assured that dark steel was one of the strongest materials in the land and she needn’t worry.

With her armour on and dusk approaching quicker with every passing second, Meg was ushered in to the armoury. Here she felt more at home, her eyes falling over the racks upon racks of swords, axes, maces, flails, rapiers, and shields, as well as bows of all sizes and shapes, crossbows, long bows, ones that shot multiple arrows and others that were designed for quick draw and fire. She was amazed at the choices but knew that she had to choose quickly as she would soon be made to fight to the death with the Mad King.

While Meg had learnt to elegantly master most weapons, her preferred choice had always been to fight duel blade, back home she’d had a set of double bladed knives that split in the middle creating almost a fork like design but here she would have to settle for something else. Choosing her weapons wasn’t the hardest decision to make, the King (or whoever organised the weaponry) was meticulous in the layout and soon she had a pair of blades in her hands. 

One blade was slightly longer than the other but both had a slight curve to them, allowing the dying light to bounce of shined edge while the rest of the blade matched the dark steel of her armour. Their hilts were gold and inlaid simply with dark green gems while the handle was wrapped in a rich black leather and pelt mix allowing Meg to grip the handle without her hands becoming too slippy, this was also aided by the leather gauntlets she’d   
been given, their straps sitting at the handles perfectly.

“Are you ready my dear?” one servant asked, quietly moving up to Meg’s side. She was smaller than Meg, dark skinned with a kind face and bright eyes. Meg took a deep breath and nodded taking the small helmet from her hands, examining it’s simple edges quickly before placing it over her head shaking it to make sure it wouldn’t come loose to easily.

With a thunderous call of trumpets the doors that Meg had been stood in front of opened, flooding the room with the sun’s dying light. Amongst the trumpets she could hear the bloodthirsty cheering of the crowds. Meg paused just out of the doors, taking in the ring and the stands of people.

The numbers were ridiculous, it felt as though the entire kingdom had come out to watch her slaughter. The helmet that covered her paling face suddenly felt too close, too tight, she couldn’t breath and the weight of the smaller sword on her back wasn’t helping. She was choking, everything was too tight, she felt her breathing speed up as her heart returned to her throat the pounding in her ears blocking out the crowds that continued to rawr at her lack of comfort.

As her head began to get lighter everything stopped. The crowd fell quiet as the doors on the opposite side of the court opened and the King stepped out. His helmet showed his eyes and mouth, allowing Meg to see the deadly smirk that passed over his lips, but was top with two large horns that had obviously been sharpened to a deadly point like a real bull. His armour was similar to Meg’s but a bright blood red that shone in the twilight with a sickening promise, his leather and pelt was a deep red brown as well embroidered with the King’s symbol of a sword through a bull’s head.

His sword, a large shining broadsword hung lazily at his side, scrapping through the sand as he made his way to the edge of the centre circle. Standing up straight he pressed his sword in to the ground in front of him, his hands resting around the handle almost gently. Noticing Meg’s slight hesitation, he gestured her forward. Somehow Meg found herself moving as though pulled by the King’s gesture until she was stood just three feet from him. 

At this close range the height difference between the pair was frighteningly obvious with the King’s broad shoulders and well built body dwarfing Meg almost completely, while the large horns smiled menacingly down at her. Meg took a deep breath, placing the larger of her two swords in the sand and leaning her hands around the handle. She followed the King’s gaze up to a small stage where several of the Lords and Ladies of the Kingdom sat. One of them Meg knew from past business, The Ramsey Family, they ruled the western realms and had firm ties with the Mad King’s empire. As she tried to recognise other members of the crowd King Geoff stood, making his way to the front of the stage.

“Lords and Ladies of the Kingdoms, you are welcomed here today at short notice for this,” King Ramsey bellowed his arms opening wide to encompass the two fighters in front of him, “the challenger, a maiden, charged with the murder of three kings guard, claiming to be a fighter of great skill and merit,” Ramsey paused listening to the quiet mutterings and laughter as bets were made through the stands over how long Meg would last.   
As Ramsey raised his hand again the crowd fell silent, “And, Sir Ryan, of the Highlands, of the South, Mad King, and slyer of the capable and fleet of foot. May the oceans forever run red with his reign,” Ramsey titled, the Kings self-righteous grin growing with every title.

“As the sun gives way to moon, and twilight descends upon the mortal realm, fighters, stand ready,” Ramsey’s focus was now on the large stone plinth facing the stage, the final sun beams teasing at the golden gem that set in its centre. The King readied his sword, lowering his body enough that his horns almost came level with Meg’s own head while Meg took a single step back, stretching her neck and giving her sword a quick spin within her hand.

“To the edge of death!” King Ramsey bellowed. 

The King lunged first his sword swiping low, aiming for Meg’s legs but she darted back quickly circling around him to try and get to his back. For his size the King was quick, nimble on his feet, and soon had Meg pulling her other sword out to help block some of his harder blows. He stayed low, always aware of his space, always five steps ahead of Meg’s our swings. But Meg had size on her side, she could duck, slide, roll, bend, out of the way of most of his attacks and others she blocked with swords. Before long she was dancing easily, allowing her body to move before even thinking about it and then it had occurred to her.

_‘If I kill the King, I die. If I don’t kill him I still die’_

Meg was yet to find an outcome in which she would win when the Mad King sent her flying with a swift kick to her back sending the helmet and cowl skipping across the sand, and her in to the oak boards that surrounded the arena. Her body ached and her ears rang, the crowds were screaming, cheering, egging the King on in order to feed their bloodlust. But the King had paused in his on slaughter, holding his sword with one hand while the other moved to unfasten his helmet throwing it aside for a servant boy to grab.

“I’m fair remember,’ the King chuckled darkly, taking his sword back in his hands again.  
Meg stared at him but now she realised what she had to do. The fight was to the edge of death, she didn’t have to kill the King, she just had to prove that she could beat him. 

With a new found fury Meg changed her tactics to attack, using her speed and skill to get close to the King, tripping and jabbing hard at his kidneys and gut. The new approach had the King blocking more and more blows until one hard blow landed his sword in the dirt, allowing Meg a quick perch for her final blow as she bounced off it’s blade, her legs kicking the King’s shoulders back and causing him to lose his balance.

The King fell with a hard thud, his sword far from his hands as Meg made her final move. Landing atop the King, her legs straddling his chest, arms locked beneath her knees, and her swords crossed just gazing the skin of his throat.

Both the King and Meg were breathing hard, covered in dirt and dust that stuck to the sweat on their faces. They were staring at each other, so close that Meg could feel the King’s powerful heartbeat beneath her. Outside of herself Meg could hear the crowd crying out in disbelief and hatred, calls of how much money they just lost merged with the shouts baying for her head but they were of little importance to her as she stared at the King beneath her. 

The Mad King’s eye shone, a deep lust filled pride that heated Meg’s insides to the point that she thought she’d melt.

“Well played,” he said simply, “now could you perhaps let me up?” he asked, Meg snapped out of her state with a shake of her head. Removing her swords and placing them in their respective holders on her back and hip before standing, offering a hand to the King who took it kissing the back of it softly before composing himself and declaring Meg the winner.


	2. Bath

After Meg had been declared the winner, she’d been quickly removed from the arena by the servants that had helped dress her. The King had ordered for a grand feast to be prepared for the other royals and various guests of honour. 

Meg hadn’t been given any indication of what was to happen now until she was led through several back stairwells by two female servants and allowed in to a large regally decorated room.

“Our Grace, King Haywood, has asked that you attend tonight feast, however he understands if you would rather just retire,” one of the ladies said, seemingly unaware that Meg wasn’t paying attention to a single word she was saying. Her attention was on the incredible room and decoration.

It was a bight room, with cream and red coloured drapes covering the deep grey brick. Three sets of large windows looked out over the east side of the kingdom including the fighting arena which was slowly being emptied of angry court goers. The centre window opened on to a large grey marble balcony, the warm night air dancing with the layers of sheer fabric that framed the windows and doors. 

All of the wood furnishings were dark oak, inlayed with gold patterns of bulls running headlong at each other, while the canopy of the bed was held up by four large minotaurs, their muscles rippling with every detail. Even the bedding was extravagant. What seemed like hundreds of pillows stacked on to the bed in deep reds, purples, and creams while the primary duvet was a deep plum with golden flowers embroidered in to it.

The first female servant was still speaking, while the second had disappeared in to a a second room coming out with a large bag which she laid atop the bed carefully.

“This shall become your main sleeping quarters, while you shall also have access to the full smithery, we shall become your ladies in waiting,” Meg suddenly realised the impact of the servants words.

“What could you repeat that please,” she asked, reality washing over her as she spied the delicate dress and trimmings the second servant was pulling from the bag.

“This shall be your main sleeping quarters, you have full access to the smithery, as well as most of the castle and council with the King himself. Myself and Mica shall be your maids in waiting, we shall help you dress for formal occasions and ensure that any and all of the King’s wishes from you are fulfilled,” Meg shook her head slowly, moving toward the plush couch that sat at the side of the bed, placing her head between her legs.

“My lady are you okay?” the first servant asked.

“Please call me Meg, I’m not a lady, I’m a fucking blacksmiths bastard daughter,” Meg rambled fighting the tears that pricked at her eyes, “can I get some water please,” she asked hating the way her voice cracked. She kept her head down until a goblet of water was placed in front of her.

“Do you wish us to stay?” Mica asked kindly, Meg looked up a small smile on her face.

“No, no, I’m okay, I would appreciate if you could point me to the baths though,” Meg decided, she hoped that using the castle’s baths meant that she would be left alone but it was a long shot.

“Of course my L-” the servant cut off with an oomph, “I mean Meg. Mica would be glad to escort you with a set of fresh linens.”

Meg nodded, that was probably the best she was going to get now. Without much more argument Meg was led to the bottom of the castle where a steaming spring had been cut from the mountain, one side having been completely cutaway to give views over the Highlands and forest outside of the King’s walls.

“Don’t mind Ashley, she got a bit of a stick up her butt, but she means well, think she’s just annoyed that his Grace has taken such a shining to you,” Mica rattled, she’d barely stopped speaking since the other main, Ashley, had left. Meg guessed that she was a nervous talker and decided not to argue when Mica automatically began to remove Meg’s clothing at the side of the spring.

“I’ll leave your night cloths and robe here, Meg, stay as long as you like,” Mica smiled as Meg sank in to the warm waters with a sigh. She’d not had a bath this warm in what felt like forever, “I shall inform his Grace that you shall not be attending tonight’s feast,” Mica was slowly gathering Meg’s dirtied underclothes, enjoying the look of pure bliss on Meg’s face as she leant back against the smoothed surface of the pool.

“Would you like me to have a small supper platter of cold meats and bread made up for you?” Mica asked finally.

Meg hummed in response enjoying the gentle running water and warm currents too much to actually answer. She barely noticed Mica leave besides the slight click of the door’s latch as she was left alone.

 

Meg wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the spring for when she woke back up, it had obviously been a while because her fingers and pruned like when she would go out digging in the snow, except she wasn’t frozen to the bone. Instead she was soft and warm, her knot free for the first time in years and every bit of dirt removed from her once caked body.

“You know you look so peaceful when you sleep,” came a silken voice from behind her. Meg span quickly her eyes locking on the King his chest bare, with just a small wrap around his hips.

“My Lord!” Meg screeched, pedalling herself backwards only to vanish beneath the water as the floor disappeared suddenly from beneath her. When she came up spluttering the King was in the water a couple feet away from her, a worried look lining his brow.

“Fuck, thought you’d drown,” he breathed, placing a hand on his chest and taking a couple slow steps toward her. There wasn’t much Meg could do, she could swim but the shock of going under had now left her panicked and treading water like a mutt. The King reached out a hand, grasping Meg’s and pulling her back to the spring’s edge where he was already knelt.

Shaking herself mentally, Meg pushed back from him again trying to escape the edge of the pool in the hopes that she could get out without him seeing.

“Your Grace, I’m sorry... I... I must’ve dozed off, I am very tired, but thank you for your hospitality... I really should.” Meg’s words were cut short as the King yanked on her hand, pulling her hard against him just centimetres away from his face. Meg tried to understand what was happening but there was too much happening.  
The King had one firm hand over her mouth, the other pressed lightly against her lower back. His chest was touching her’s pressing her breasts in to glittering mounds between them, and her crotch... Fuck her crotch was way to close to his, for someone who had been fighting the King to the edge of death she should not be this close right now.

Meg stared at him, that same smirk that she’d come to recognise pulling itself across his lips, “Had anyone ever told you you talk too much when your flustered,” he joked, holding her for a couple more seconds before removing his hands and pushing away from her. Meg almost fell after him, the water in the spring now feeling cold in comparison to the heat she’d felt just moments ago.

“Erm... yes, actually,” Meg thought, thinking back to when her brothers would tell her to shut the hell up because she couldn’t stop talking.

“But I should, probably be getting out anyway,” Meg stammered moving toward the edge of the pool again.

“Of course, you must be tired, I hope your quarters are sufficient,” the King asked.

“Yes, yes, thank you my Lord you really are a very generous man, King,” Meg was still shuffling backward, keeping her breasts beneath the water was becoming a challenge. “Erm, my Lord-,”

“Ryan please, that my Lord, your Grace stuff gets so boring after a while,” the King laughed waving a damp hand at Meg and sending water droplets flitting through the air.

“Oh-Kay, Ryan, would you mind please, turning around?” Meg asked feeling awkward to be on such normal terms with a man of a much higher status that herself.

“If you wish my dear Rabbit, but know that I believe you to be a phenomenal woman,” Ryan nodded, turning and perching himself on the edge of the drop that had almost drowned Meg. With as little splashing as possible Meg jumped out of the spring, grabbing her robe and yanking it around it before disappearing out the baths.

Ryan couldn’t help but laugh after her. He’d never been that close to a challenger killing him before and yet the same woman was so flustered in his presence that she literally bolted from the room. 

Ryan’s memory filled with the image of her, this morning when she’d been dressed in dark colours and ill-fitting leather, her hair knotted and pushed out of the way. This evening, when she faced him dressed in dragon armour and wielding two blades so close to killing him and yet still so captivating that he would have died a happy man. And a few minutes ago, when he’d stepped in to the steamed chamber, the night sky black but moonlight reflecting off the water and the pale skin of her breast as they floated in the water, her arms stretched across the smooth edge without a care in the world. 

Ryan was sure she was attracted to him but he respected her as a fighter rather than a piece of ass like so many before her. This was going to be challenge, but Ryan loved a hunt.


	3. Expectations

When Meg awoke the next morning, her room was bright, the balcony door open casting a light breeze in to the room yet Meg had still been too warm to move under the various thick coverings. 

She briefly recalled getting back to her room still feeling the hot flush on her skin and had stood out on the balcony enjoying the supper that had been left on the slim table at the end of the large bed. A mix of meats and cheeses with cut pieces of bread that had gone slightly crisp from being left out, but she hadn’t cared carrying it out on to the balcony along with a small table and comfortable desk chair inhaling the food with the cool air had calmed and allowed her to reflect on what had been an exceedingly strange day.

She’d taken out the three guards a couple days ago, and like good towns people who feared rather than respected the wrath of their King they’d handed her over without question. Her father had questioned her when she’d first told him her plan, but he trusted her and her ability, so when the royal guards had barged in to their shop demanding that she come with them she’d tried to go without a fuss. But then the guards had got heavy handed and pushed her too far.

Meg had snapped one’s wrist and dislocated the shoulder of another, which was why she’d been sacked and strapped all the way to the castle and the King’s hall.  
While most people would’ve been terrified, knowing that what awaited them would be a certain death of bloody nature she’d somehow ended up impressing him. Meg still wasn’t sure why the King had taken such a liking to her. She knew she was good fighter, a bit of a hot head, but she still how to get what she wanted and she had only now she was trapped. A prisoner spoilt with riches that she could’ve dreamt of.

“What is going on!” she’d yelled in to the night. While she was grateful for everything the King had bestowed upon her she worried about her father, he wasn’t in the greatest of health and knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demand that was expected of them. She hoped the pigeon she’d sent to retrieve even one of her brothers would reach them quickly enough that they didn’t lose even more custom. 

They weren’t a poor family, but blacksmithing also wasn’t the cheapest work. Materials were expensive as well as the upkeep of their forever busy stall. But they’d lived happily, made enough to afford a meal a day, real hide and wool for bedrolls, and the kiln always kept their home warm with excess heat. 

She hadn’t realised she was crying until the drops began hitting the bare skin of her breast, the robe having blown open in the slight wind.

She’d gone to bed exhausted enough to simply land on the too soft mattress and fall in to a dreamless sleep.

Now she was awake, in the same bed that she’d fallen asleep on with the same expensive furnishings surrounding her. With a heavy heart she sat up on the bed, how she wished this had all been a dream, as if called a small knock sounded from her door.

“My Lady?” a new voice? Meg rolled her eyes at the title, she wasn’t a blasted lady, she was a Turn, a blacksmith of the middle towns beside the forest. They made weapons and armour, basic utensils and tools, sold them for little to no profit to people who knew them by their names, and on occasion the higher classes.  
Another knock, “Are you up my Lady?” the voice asked. 

Meg sighed, “Yes, come in,” she called back standing up off the bed and stretching, pulling her robe back closed just as a young looking face peeped around the door.

“Ah my Lady, we feared you wouldn’t wake,” the girl joked, pulling a large silver platter around the door with her being careful to not jolt the various drinks on its surface. Meg rushed forward taking the tray from her before she could protest.

“My Lady really don’t-”

“Please stop with the formalities, I’m Meg,” she said cutting off the younger girl and offering her hand. The girl looked slightly taken back but took Meg’s hand lightly, obviously fighting the urge to curtsey, and introduced herself as Elora.

“So erm, what time is it?” Meg asked attempting to break the awkwardness that had formed.

“It is just past noon my-” the young girl cutting off when Meg held up her hand, but smiled pulled a sweet smile from the younger girl as well.

“Noon, really? Wow must’ve been tired,” Meg laughed disappearing in to the room that Mica had retrieved yesterday’s dress from. 

The large walk in wardrobe was mostly bare but expertly organised meaning that what she assumed were her night clothes sat in neat piles at the back, while a couple silk covered mounds were hung to her right. The left side of the room was a mix of leathers, tough skins, pelts and various undershirts with long arms. 

“My L- Meg would you like me to fetch Mica and Ashley to help you get ready?” the young girl asked peeking around the corner to where Meg was grabbing various items of cloth.

“No, no thats okay thank you Elora, I’m sure I can get myself dressed she rambled Pulled on a set of hide pants and undershirt. Looped the heavy leather apron and chaps over her arm while tying her tool belt firmly around her waist spinning it so that the various loops hung at her back.

“However,” she started sitting on the edge of the couch to pull on the large boots that she’d found, lacing them all the way to her knee, “I would love if you could show me to the smithery,” Meg asked, she needed to be back around stuff she knew. She never thought she’d crave the dirt under her finger nails and sweat on her brow.

“Oh erm, I’m not quite sure where that is but I can direct you to one of the guards who should know,” Elora admitted, tugging at the hem of her own apron.

“Yes please,” Meg smiled, scanning the tray of food Elora had brought in and filling a section of cloth she’d found with various meats and bread. Elora watched her in slight shock as she piled the no doubt expensive scarf with food, watching as grease spots seeped through the fabric. Meg fastened the sack to her belt and gestured for Elora to lead the way. Following the young girl as she careened down several passages.

Meg soon felt a cool breeze as they rounded a final corner, the end of the tunnel opening up in to a grand courtyard. Meg breathed it all in. The smoke, the shit, the soot, it felt more like home than the insides of the castle ever could. Elora had stopped just a couple feet away talking to one of the guards who nodded slowly and followed her back to where Meg had paused.

“So you’re our new blacksmith?” the guard asked a hint of mocking to his voice that Meg brushed off ignoring the tone as she grabbed a handful of bread and meat and began eating, she nodded firmly in reply. Again, Meg was regarded with a rather confused and wary look, but still the guard turned on his heel marching away from her.

Meg followed, yelling goodbye to Elora over her shoulder and through a mouthful of dough.

 

The smithery was empty of people but crammed with top caliber tools and workspaces, it had three kilns that each gave of a different intensity of heat. with three large workbenches that spanned the length of the space. Being left alone by the guard allowed Meg to check and enjoy every piece of equipment. She’d already pulled on her chaps and apron, filling the various loops of her belt with the usual tools and hammers while larger items hung in the large pockets of her apron. 

Piles of raw metals sat in one large corner of the smithery. Searching amongst it Meg eventually barrels of metal chips, each one scrawled with its contents. She went for the ones she knew first sectioning them in to small lead cups to act as testers for her kiln heats. She was busy opening and closing kilns, testing out various plates to check the results when a familiar voice broke through the crackling fires.

“Enjoying yourself?” Ryan asked, leaning against the doorway. Meg turned to look at him, careful not to drop the molten iron she was holding. She took a breath placing it and the red hot #holders on the bench beside her, pulling off the thick leather gloves and stretching her fingers beneath the swaddling of bandages she wrapped around each one. Ryan followed the long line of bandage that skimmed from her finger tips to the crook of her elbow where they were replaced by a dark brown undershirt, a slight questioning eyebrow catching Meg’s glance.

“Yes actually, good to be doing what I do best, however would be nice to have some company.” Meg noted looking around at the large empty space par for her experimenting. The king narrowed his eyebrows at her slightly so Meg decided to explain before she got herself in even more trouble, “I mean if you want this to be a working smithery it needs to be more than just me,” Meg pointed out, crossing her arms across her chest before reaching up to unfasten the leather collar that covered her neck and upper chest from flying sparks but was now constricting sweatily around her throat.

“Well, yes, I thought eventually you would like some help but I wanted you to get accommodated in your new setting first,” Ryan defended, in truth he’d pushed her in to this position so quickly that he hadn’t had time to look for anyone to work beneath her.

“Well thats very kind, but if you don’t have anyone in mind I’ve got a few names to put forward with your discretion,” Meg pushed, hoping that it would mean she’d get to check on her father and make sure he was okay.

“Well I trust your judgement, so how about this? You dine with me tonight and we shall discuss everything and anything that you wish,” Ryan smiled as a slight flush swept up her neck, filling her cheeks with a rosy warmness that he wished he could touch.

Meg found herself taken aback at the thought of a no questions barred dinner with the King, but at the same time she figured that it would be the only way to get to see her family again.

“Very well my Lord,” Meg answered formally, clasping her hands behind her back and bowing slightly, “I shall retainer for the day, and have my ladies deliver me to the great hall when you are ready.” The words felt wrong coming from her mouth but the reaction that they enticed from the King was worth it. His eyes widening slightly before prowling down her body again, an unconscious lick and bite of his lip was all Meg needed to know that he wanted her although she still couldn’t be one hundred percent sure as to why that was.

“Sounds like a pleasant evening, I shall meet you in the main hall,” Ryan said stiffly, holding his hands behind his back as he turned to leave.

 

By the time Meg made it back to her room both Mica and Ashley were already waiting for her, various undergarments already laid out across her bed. Meg hadn’t planned to dress up for her dinner with Ryan, but given the girl’s excited shuffling she didn’t have a choice.

“Meg, finally, we’ve got your underclothes ready but we thought you would like to pick your dress for dinner,” Mica smiled. Ashley glanced sidedly at her before smiling professionally at Meg.

“Of course, my lady, we do have some suggestions,” she said, moving toward the large wardrobe that was now almost half full with silken bags, “if you care to join me,” Meg felt that it wasn’t a question and so placed her blacksmith gear over the couch, Mica moving to collect it quietly while Meg walked in to the other room. Ashley had already selected three bags, hanging them across the room so she could present them completely.

The first was a heavy velvet dress, the fabric a deep blood red with silver filagree along the wide neckline and cuffs of the sleeves. A silver plated belt hung beside it. Meg reached for the sleeves, pulling on one of the sleeves to reveal the large drape that ran from the elbow to just before the wrist.

The second was another red dress, the thick curtain type fabric decorated with a faint filagree in red velvet. Rather than draping completely this dress had some shape, the fabric folded at the hip in to various pleats while the simple sleeves hugged slightly tighter to her arms. The neckline decorated with simple black jewels that hung like droplets across her shoulders, chest and back.

The third was the only black dress. Its torso and top shirt were a soft net; merlot coloured patterns decorating the arms and torso, covering her breast and the bone of the bodice. The patterning spread like fresh blood from the back of her hands, and through the net congealing and spreading through the material until it dissipated in to the slim flowing skirt. The underdress and bodice was a black silk that allowed the various underclothing and bone to be hidden. 

With a self-contented nod Ashley pulled the dress down, laying it beside the undergarments that went with it while Mica put away the others. Meg was shuffled to another small room where sat a deep silver bowl half filled with steaming water. She’d barely taken it in before Ashely was pulling her out of her clothing, stripping her naked without a moments hesitation while Mica attempted to pull her hair in to a high bun.

“Don’t bother it needs washing,” Ashley snapped, slapping Mica's hands away and pressing Meg toward the bath, urging her in. Mica nodded, leaving the room where Meg heard her sparking the fire in to life before a large jug of water was poured over her head, cutting off her senses and leaving her spluttering on a mouthful of suds. Ashley barely noticed, shifting to scrub and lather Megs dark hair with rich soaps and oils before moving on to her skin.

Meg was a tad shocked at Ashley as she passed the soap soaked cloth over her breasts and lower stomach. But Ashley didn’t seem to notice the slight arousal building in the pit of Meg’s stomach, it had been a long time since she’d been touched in such a brash and intimate way. Still Meg kept her eyes forward as Ashley finishing washing her body and hair.

“Up,” Ashley said finally, stepping back from the tub with a large wrap pulled in front of her. Meg didn’t argue, standing quickly and fighting the head-rush caused by the heat in the small room. Once again Meg had to fight the arousal between her legs as Ashley dried her, massaging the water from her skin before leading her back to the bedroom where Mica stood waiting by the vanity mirror. The fire’s flames flicking in the reflection and casting an orange glow across her shaded skin.  
Meg was urged toward the chair where Mica’s hands moved to dry her hair as much as possible before beginning to brush it in to a large bun that sat at the crown of her head, a few strings curling down her cheeks which Mica quickly wrapped and pinned in fabric before she was hoisted back up.

The ladies moved silently and efficiently, lacing and tightening the underskirt and corset, creating a tiny waist that barely allowed more that small gasps of breath.

“Breath in your chest my Lady, it will make it easier,” Mica smiled. Meg decided to forgive the title given that Mica was being the careful one of the pair, meanwhile Ashley continued to tighten the under-corset of the dress, pulling Meg’s breasts in to a hoisted position that seemed to defy gravity.

The rest of the dress was fastened with simple emerald buttons down her back, the lace hugging lightly at her shoulders and allowing the rest of the fabric to lay flat across her breast and stomach. The dress was finished with a simple silver and ruby choker, a pair of rings covering the loops of her sleeves were they encircled the base of her middle fingers. 

A deep merlot stain was added to her lips accompanied by small charcoal smudges at the outer corners of her eyes. With a final pull of the fabric wraps, that Mica had curled in to her hair, the pair stepped back to admire their work. Ashley disappearing for a second in to the wardrobe and coming back with a pair of black, heeled pumps, bending to place them on Meg’s feet.

“Beautiful,” Mica whispered mainly to herself, but Meg smiled none-the-less, following the pair clumsily from her room and back through a variety of corridors. They stopped outside a set of large oak doors, two guards and a announcer stood outside them.

“Her Ladyship, Megara Turn,” Ashley announced to the guards and spokesman formally, curtseying slightly as she did, Mica copied her gesture. Before Meg could decide what to do, other than keep her hands grasped in front of her, the doors were pushed open the announced stepping through. Mica pushed Meg forward slightly nodding after the man.

With one deep breath, Meg followed him through the doors thankful that she could hear both Mica and Ashley moving forward behind her.

“My Grace, King Haywood, I present to you her Ladyship, Megara Turn. Blacksmith to the court and daughter of the people,” Meg raised a questioning eyebrow at the back of the spokesman but followed the length of the room toward a large circular table, it’s surface covered with a black cloth while the long edges hung down in the tartan pattern that matched the King’s colours. 

At the head of the table sat the King. His clean white shirt hung slightly open showing the curl of chest hair that moved beneath his pecks with each breath. The shirt was topped with a black waistcoat, it’s collar and pocket square decorated in the tartan while two shining silver pins of the King’s symbol and house symbol shined atop his breast.

Meg’s breath caught in her throat as he stood, moving around the table and stepping toward her, the spokesman moved back through the door and closed them with a whispered thud. Meg watched him leave, her eyes catching Mica and Ashley who had moved to the side of the room, both standing with their head bowed slightly and hands held softly in front of them. 

“My Lady,” a treacle voice said, filling her ears and pulling her attention back to the King as he stood surely in front of her, one hand laid out in greeting. Meg placed her own hand in his, swallowing the lump in her throat as he bent forward to kiss the top of her ring lightly.

“You look ravishing,” he grinned, his eyes filling with the same mischievous fire that Meg remembered from the previous day. Mentally shaking herself Meg cleared her throat to reply,

“As do you my Grace, very handsome,” the King quirked a eyebrow at her, keeping a light hold on her hand as he led her toward the table, pulling the chair out for her and tucking her in before seating himself back on her right, beside her.

“Hungry?” he as simply smiling.

“Starving,” Meg replied, returning his smile and enjoy the slight glint that caught in the King’s eye.

“Then let us begin,” Ryan smiled, clapping his hands twice and beginning the largest feast that Meg had ever laid eyes on.


	4. Conversation

“No, No, I can not eat anymore, My King! Come on, no!” Meg giggled, half trying to push away the spoon of ice cream, that Ryan was pushing towards her sealed lips.

“Oh come now, Meg, you know it’s Ryan and you know you love this stuff,” Ryan laughed smearing the melting frost across the part of her lips. Meg laughed, the spoon, slipping in to her mouth and dousing her tongue with the cold vanilla.

“Okay, Okay, it’s good, but seriously you should see how tight Ashley strapped me in to this thing,” Meg partly choked, swallowing the ice cream and licking her lips.

“Oh I most certainly would like to see how tightly strapped in to that you are,” Meg felt his eyes tearing at his dress, desperate and hungry for the pale flesh that had been teasing him all night.

They’d been eating, and drinking, and talk for over three hours by this point and due to the pairs nerves they’d accidentally drank themselves stupid. Ryan was hungry for Meg, and at this point he didn’t care if she knew he just wanted her in his bed but Meg had other ideas.

“My Grace, that is no way to speak to the Blacksmith of the Court,” Meg joked, batting his hand away as it stroked up and down her arm.

Ryan scoffed, “Don’t let those titles go to your head, I can easily take them away,” his eyes flamed in warning but the devilish smirk that painted his lips was the only indicator Meg needed to know he was joking.

“Besides, you haven’t given me an answer to my requests,” Meg stated, attempting to bring the conversation back to it original topic, “I need a team and I know who I need in that team, my father, my brothers, a...”

“A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker,” Ryan joked, sitting back in his chair with a small huff, “Know your requests Meg, I shall send out my men first thing to retrieve your brothers and father, they shall be treated fairly however, you must understand that I can not allow them to live in the castle permanently,” Ryan’s voice was soft but the sternness of his words made Meg worry, her thoughts were silenced with a raise of his hand.  
“But I will, allow them to live within the castle grounds. They shall have protection, access to the finest doctors, the rarest materials, in return I need to know that they shall bend the knee and serve me completely,”

“But the towns people, what of them, their market with us,” Meg interjected worriedly.

“I can’t have my materials going to them, I am sorry, however if you wish, I will allow your family to work with the regular materials, in their spare time, so you can continue selling to the town. But understand, that every penny made shall be property of the Crown,” Ryan was serious now, the royal blood in him burning through the haze of alcohol and lust.

“And what shall my family live on?” Meg questioned, Ryan sighed scrunching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Do you really not listen when I speak?” he growled, taking a deep breath before continuing, his glare icy, “Yourself, and your family, shall be provided for by the Crown. None of you shall ever, have to worry about anything again. Food, shelter, medicine, protection, it shall all be payment for your service.”

Meg stared at him, wide eyed and questioning, “And me? Shall I be moved from the castle as well?” she asked, honestly she wasn’t sure which answer she would prefer, the castle was nice enough, warm, secure, she had everything she’d ever wanted and more. But, at the same time, she wanted to spend more than just working hours with her family and the thought that she wouldn’t be with them when her father did pass echoed in the back of her mind like a rot.

“You shall stay here, with me, but know that you are free to eat and spend time with your family all you like, I just ask that you retire for your final meal here and sleep in the room I have graciously given you,” Ryan clarified, not breaking eye contact with Meg as he spoke. Meg stared straight back, trying to read him but all she saw was a dull flicker of potential sadness before it was snuffed out by the harsh ice of his blue eyes.

“Very well your Grace,” Meg nodded moving to stand. Ryan broke the ice of his eyes with confusion, following her movements as she pushed her chair back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, the hour is late and I have plenty of work to do tomorrow,” Meg curtseyed slightly, making her way back to the doors. She could feel Ryan’s gaze following her as she pushed open one door and disappeared through it. She stopped just two corners down, leaning against the wall as she removed her shoes, enjoying the cool stone on the base of her burning feet.

“You really are playing with fire Meg,” she muttered to herself, leaning her head back against the cool wall. 

Hiking the hem of her dress in to her hands so that it didn’t catch on the slabs, she continued back toward her room trying not to think too much about the King or his rules to her requests.

 

A guard was outside her room when she finally got there, she recognised him as one of the men that had first brought her to the castle. What had Ryan called him? Jeremy? Meg was too tired to think, but nodded to him softly,

“I hate to ask but could you get Ashley for me to remove me from this,” she asked, Jeremy’s mouth twitched a vicious thought running through his head but he shook it away. He’d heard rumours about guards that had gone after the King’s sweets before, it had never ended well. With a small nod he headed towards the lady’s quarters, banging unceremoniously on the door in an effort to wake Ashley before he did something stupid.

When she opened the door, he simply pointed back down the hall not trusting his mouth against the images forming in his mind and the growing buzz in his belly. Ashley nodded, slipping on a pair of simple plimsoles before disappearing down the corridor. 

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Jeremy strained, reaching inside his pants to adjust himself before moving toward his own quarters.


	5. Family

“You can’t treat us like this!”

“We are citizens of the clearing!” 

“I demand to know why you are treating this way!”

The various yelling echoed across the castle’s grounds distracting Meg from her work, the voice sounded familiar, and stepping from her smithery she realised why.   
It had been almost three weeks since her meal with the King, and true his word he had built her a small team of some of the greatest blacksmiths in the kingdom, but she was still waiting to see her father or brothers step through the gate in the courtyard. 

In the meantime she’d made quite a name for herself through the court. Her smithery was churning out the best tools and weaponry in not just the kingdom but most of the country. She was a guest at many of the dinners and feasts and parties that the King held and had become the centre of many of the court’s rumours. She spent a lot of downtime with the King, speaking, practicing, teaching and be taught. In her month at the castle she’d already fought and beat most of the guard, been taught archery by the King himself, and gone on several hunts to try and find new pelts and skins for her weapons.

But now as she pulled the dark goggles from her eyes she saw them, her two closest brothers, the two that had made her life hell but unconsciously taught her everything she knew alongside her father. The only two in their family that hadn’t vanished to other kingdoms or walls to fight or sail.

John was tall, hitting six feet with ease along with broad shoulders which left him resembling an immovable monster of a being. His long hair was tied back in a thick bun with a few straggling hairs hanging down over his scared white eye and while it took four guards to move him even a few feet through the courtyard he didn’t seem to be putting up much of a fight besides planting his feet in the dusting earth. Her other brother, Edgar, wasn’t going down without a fight either, only he was actually wresting with the guards as best he could, swinging his feet in vain kicks and wiggling to try and shake their grasps. His hair was short like Meg remembered, but a thick greying beard and crows feet showed his age and how much he’d travelled since leaving the family home to find himself. 

Meg rushed forward, her tools rattling in her belt as she ran to stop the guards manhandling her brothers.

“Guards!” she yelled, making them pause. The brothers stopped as well, their eyes staring in disbelief at her mix of black leather and fine cloth, wrapped googles and clean if sweating skin.

“Meg?” the pair questioned in unison.

“We thought you were dead?” John scoffed. Meg shook her head dismissively at him, turning her attention to the guards.

“Guards, what is the meaning of this outrageous treatment of my family?” she demanded, enjoying the slight step backward a couple of the guards took, “well?” she asked again staring down two of the head guards that still had a firm hold of the brother’s cuffs.

“Well, King Haywood told us to bring them in, they refused and we were forced to retaliate,” one tried to defend.

“That is not what happened,” John groaned, turning to Meg to try and explain his side, Meg held up her hand silencing the small crowd, and noticing a few court members that had stopped to take in the scene unfolding before them.

“Well first things, I’m going to take them to his Grace myself and then, maybe, I won’t ask him for you or team to face me in the field this dusk,” Meg warned knowing that she’d already beaten at least three of the guards in front of her, “now remove those bloody shackles will you,” Meg ordered, two guards quickly moving to uncuff the two brothers. John was the first to stumble quickly forward, wrapping his arms around Meg and hoisting her up with a laugh.

“You little bitch, we thought the bastards had killed you after we found out what you did, why haven’t you come home?” he asked, his large smile faltering slightly as he placed her back on the ground.

“I’ll explain later, for now we should probably go see what his highness was thinking,” Meg said giving Edgar a quick hug before turning on her heel and heading up the large steps that led to the large court hall and throne room.

During the winding walk, Meg relayed the short version of how she’d created such a power-play within the court, carefully leaving most of the close encounters that she’d had with the King and the fiery attraction she felt toward him. The brothers asked her questions up to the last second of them stepping through the doors of the hall. Meg quickly thought how her brother’s were experiencing this place for the first time in comparison to how she had been dragged to this place and unceremoniously dropped at the Mad King’s feet.

“Haywood!” Meg yelled, her annoyance bubbling at the surface. Four guards pushed forward, but the King’s slight laugh paused them.

“It’s fine guards,” he assured, stepping down from his throne to greet Meg and the two other men he assumed we’re her brothers given their protective positioning on her flanks, “I thought I would be seeing you today, didn’t realise you would be bringing them in though my Lady,” Ryan smirked down at Meg enjoying the slow fire that was burning within the tiny woman.

“Oh quit with the formalities Ryan, why did you order the guards to literally try and drag my brothers in to your castle?” she asked, attempting to control the volume of her voice without compromising the tone which echoed through the near empty room.

“Well what I asked was that they be simply brought to the court so I could offer them the jobs we had discussed, how they were brought here was entirely down to the boneheads I call the King’s Guard,” Ryan explain, enjoying the confused looks covering the brother’s faces as they witnessed the way he and Meg had become comfortable talking with one another.

In truth, the way they spoke to each other was very much frowned up by a lot of the court but Ryan had taken to not caring, after all he was the King so why should it matter, and the more he and Meg spoke the more comfortable she seemed to become. They’d spent a few days apart after their first dinner but had since had several other dinners together both alone and with company, and much to the guests displeasure he and Meg had spoken with no one else most of the night. He was aware of their rumours of course, but since Meg didn’t seem fazed by them why should he be.

“Then where is my father?” Meg asked him, raising her brows. It was Edgar that answered from behind her,

“He’s ill Meg, real ill, John and I kicked up a fuss so they’d leave him alone,” he admitted, Meg stared at him. Had her father really gotten that bad?

“Ryan?” she asked, begging that he understood what he was asking.

Ryan took a deep breath but nodded, “Take Jack and Jeremy with you,” he asked. Although Ryan knew Meg could defend herself, he felt better knowing that she would have his number one healer and his head of staff with her, there was usually only two ways that people reacted to a royal cart pulling through the city and one of them wasn’t the most pleasant.

“Fine, can you make sure my brother’s get settled?” Meg asked already unfastening the various leather protectors she wore while working. Ryan nodded once,

“Trevor!” he shouted. A tall, slim man with dark hair and smart uniform came trotting out from behind his throne, “Trevor is my head steward, he shall escort you to your new lodgings, and explain the terms of your agreements,” Ryan told the brothers, watching Meg’s back as she disappeared out of the court yelling for her ladies. He shook his head, turning back to Trevor to tell him where he could find the contracts he had written up for each of Meg’s team. 

Meg was gone with less than a muttered goodbye as she bolted through the corridors to her chambers, quickly shedding her leather protection and grabbing the large red cloak Ryan had had made for her before one of their hunts. The collar and shoulders covered in a section of the thick black fur that had come from her first bear kill, two large silver bulls sat at either collar bone fastening the cloak around her. By the time she made it back to the carriage house the Kings smaller, black oak carriage was all ready to go, Jeremy running the final checks on the horses harness and reigns before climbing in to the driver’s seat. Jack had already prepared a simple medicine kit to accompany him, the multi-pelt bag bumping against his thigh as he climbed in.

“Megara, my Lady,” Jack smiled, his thick red bread shifting slightly.

“Jack, what did we say about titles?” Meg smirked, taking his offered hand and tugging herself up in to the carriage. With a swift bang on the wall that sat behind Jeremy, the carriage set off, rolling swiftly down the hill toward the town beside the wood.

 

Meg’s family had owned and worked the comfortably sized smithery home for decades, before the reign of the Mad King it had been a nobel bloodline that ruled the throne and the town it looked over,

“ _A bloodline of fighters_ ,” Meg’s father had called them, “ _their ancestors and our ancestors were linked, they brought your great great great great grandfather here with his trade, we built the kingdom to what it is now_.”

Meg had loved his stories, but thats all they ever had been to her, stories. There were never any official writings stating who were the first townsfolk to live on the plains, never-mind those that had sort refuge in the forest clearing that they now called home and the rest of the world refereed to as atemporal, a place where time seemed to mean little. Atemporal was true in a way, the people of the town did seem to live longer that most, or at least they had before the Mad King’s reign, but the same respect no one seemed to age. You could leave for weeks, months, years, and yet still come back to your family who would seem to have barely changed while you had become grey and withered. Crops thrived in the clearing, and its back edge held the clearest spring whose water was said to be filled with magical properties. 

Meg had once believed in the magic of the place, she’d been naive, and when her father had started to fall in all the magic had vanished. Her brothers had seen it too that was why they had left, to travel, to find answers, but seemed that neither of them had been successful since they were now locked away in the court of the castle. 

Meg was yanked from her thoughts with a sudden jolt of the carriage. Through the caged windows she could see the few trees that sprouted in the clearing, and just beyond the black/grey smoke of her home. The smoke meant that the furnace was running, which at least meant her father was in a warm home if nothing else. As they drew nearer, Meg noticed the large wooden shutters covering the shop and crawled messily on a large piece of parchment were the words:

**‘CLOSED UNTIL FUTHER NOTICE’**

The sign meant that her father had been running poor since his disappearance, she didn’t know how long her brothers had been home but she hoped long enough that he hadn’t gone hungry in her time away.

Meg didn’t wait for the carriage to stop completely, simply opening the door and bounding out, her feet catching on the rough gravel as she sped toward the door of the house. It was still slightly ajar from when the guards had taken her brothers, and inside she could hear the sickening wet cough of her father. Edging the door open she peered inside, it was most dark, the curtains drawn to retain heat and the remaining candles burning down to nubs. She spotted two bedrolls on the floor beside the arch of her father’s room, she hoped that meant her brothers had been here a while before they were called for.

“Papa?” Meg called, stepping fully in to the house and moving toward the small room that was her father’s. From the arch she could just about feel the temperature change since his room was the one that backed on to the furnace, the residual heat leaking through the walls.

“Papa?” she asked again, moving further in to the room. It was almost completely dark in here but Meg could just about make out the silhouettes of their scarce furniture. A hob-cobbled double bed sat in the centre of the room, a mound huddled beneath the slim sheet and few fur pelts they kept over the years.

“Papa, it’s me, it’s Meg,” she cooed, moving to sit beside the mound on the bed. She could hear Jack and Jeremy outside, as he tied up the horse.

“Meg?” a hand creeping from beneath the sheets. Meg reached for the thin hand that reached for her from beneath the covers, his hand was so cold, still rough from the years of work but it’d lost nearly all its strength as it wrapped around Meg’s.

“Meg? No, your dead?” his voice cracked slightly, but Meg tightened her grip, pulling his hand to her chest so he could feel how alive she was.

“I’m not dead papa, I’m sorry I didn’t come back, I’m here now though, we’re going somewhere better,” Meg promised as she reached for the covers around her father’s face. Pulling them back she was sickened at what she saw, his once strong features were now sunken and pale, and his blue eyes now seemed life less. His lips were cracked and pale but deep red crusts sat in the corners.

“Oh papa,” Meg sighed, pushing a hand through his once thick curly hair.

“How is he?” Jack asked from the archway, his brow furrowed in worry. Meg simply shook her head, fighting the tears that edged her eyes. How could she have been so selfish? Her father needed her and instead she’d gone galavanting off with a King, the very King that she knew her father both feared and despised. Jack moved closer sitting himself behind Meg and taking his hand from her, his fingers pressed firmly against the inside of her father’s wrist. Meg watched her father’s eyes flicker at the heat of Jack’s fingers.

“What’s your name sir?” he asked politely.

“Mi..Bur..” Meg’s father choked before leaning over her knees to cough violently.

“Michael Burns, everyone calls him Burnie though,” Meg answered for him.

“Okay,” Jack whispered, pulling a small stethoscope from his bag and placing one end against Burnie’s back while he was still bent. He listened quietly, all the while Meg petted her father’s hair lightly, hoping it would sooth him while he regained his breath.

“Okay,” Jack repeated, moving back and pulling a small bottle from his bag. “This is milk of the poppy, get him to drink it and then we are going to have to get him back to the castle, if he stays here he has a few days, a week tops,” Jack spoke honestly it was one of the reasons Meg had taken such a liking to him, you always knew you were getting the truth whenever you asked Jack something even if he knew it would be hard for you to hear.

Meg nodded, taking the vile from Jack and leaning her father back up. Jack stood, informing her that he was going to tell Jeremy to get the carriage ready and that he’d be back to help carry her father out. Meg nodded again numbly, she’d have to put the fire out before they left, no point in risking burning the town down, and she’d have to come back at some point to retrieve the few tools and weaponry that remained in the shop if it hadn’t been looted yet. 

Meg shifted on the bed, helping her father in to a seated position before holding the vile to his pale lips. Burnie refused at first, but with a few words of encouragement he drank the milky substance.

“Okay papa, I need you to sit for me, sit on the edge of the bed okay we’re gonna try and keep you warm,” Meg explained, pulling him up against her and helping him to pull his feet from the covers. She was relieved to find that he was already wearing a pair of fur skin boots, and with a small smile she held to pull the various sheets and furs back around him.

“I need to put the furnace out,” Meg explained to Jack once he came back and they had started half carrying Burnie toward the carriage. Jack nodded,

“Good plan, grab anything warm from in there as well,” he advised, moving almost all of Burnie’s weight on to his own shoulder so Meg could wiggle out. 

With the fire out and few extra leather skins, aprons, and Meg’s cloak, flung around her father they set back off to the castle, Burnie huddled between both Jack and Meg in an attempt to keep him warm and prevent as much jostling as possible on the bumpy ascent.


	6. Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long been working on a number of projects including an updated version of Downfall of Dollface. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this little, questionable non-con, smut.

With her family back inside the walls of the castle Meg felt comfortable enough to try and get back in to her work. Her brothers jumped straight in to helping out, bouncing between the various work stations while she fought to keep everything running smoothly. Her father slowly began to get better and once he was well enough Meg told him about her position and agreement with the king, and while not happy he was warmed by her loyalty to her family and the towns folk below.

It seemed that Ryan had lost his spark for her, as she rarely saw him lurking about the smithery anymore and their hunts and training had fallen to the wayside. Meg didn’t mind massively, it meant she could focus and stay out of the ridiculously expensive dresses that continued to fill her wardrobe alongside every form of accessory and shoe.

One night during her personal practise she began to plan her next steps. Her weaponry was good, she knew that, and she knew that there was vary little to match it in the closest kingdoms, but it could be better. What if a blade never needed to be sharpened? Or an arrow could always hit its mark? It would create a near unbeatable fighter, and knowing Ryan’s views she couldn’t find any point that he would disagree with. The kingdom needed a mage, one worthy of serving the Mad King.

 

He was losing her, he was losing her and he was the one who had caused it. Ryan stood just inside the door of Meg’s balcony watching as she fought and tested the various creations of weaponry on the duelling field. 

Ryan knew that he still wanted her, knew that she was still to be his. The fire between them at their first meeting had been to palpable to ignore, she had to have felt it too. Ryan cursed himself silently as he watched her body curve and bend with precise, practised motions her breathing heavy in cooling night; causing clouds to billow around her like dragon’s breath. Ryan didn’t realise he’d been staring until a small voice came from behind him.

“My Grace? What are you doing in Lady Megara’s room?” she asked, Ryan turned around quickly, thankful that the darkness of the room hid the slight blush burning at his cheeks. Ashley frowned at him, waiting for an answer as she placed the small supper in the usual gap on Meg’s chest of drawers, a slightly lighter section of wood showing through the varnish.

“Does a king really need a reason to explore his own castle?” Ryan asked Ashley in return, standing straighter and ignoring the feeling the his kilt caused against his member.

“I am sorry my king, I was simply enquiring, Lady Megara likes to keep her things private,” Ashley explained bowing her head slightly and taking a step toward the door.

“Well nothing is private to me!” Ryan bellowed quickly covering the space between the servant girl and himself, a deadly glint in his eye, “Who do you think you are? Questioning me, your king? Do you needed to be reminded of where you came from whore? Maybe I should just send you back there,”. 

Ryan was pressed against her now, his breath hot against her cheek as her grabbed her face with a single hand, forcing her gaze to him, “I think you need putting back in your place,” he growled, spinning her against the wall fully aware the she could feel his already hard erection pressing against her butt with each haggard breath.

“Please, my Grace I’m sorry, I shan’t step out of line again,” Ashley whined, her fighting pitiful against the King’s strong hands, as her arms were crossed behind her back and held in place. 

Ryan was lost. Locked in his own hell of lust and confusion and anger and self-pity, he could feel Ashley’s fear and yet he didn’t stop instead he led her on. Pushing her roughly from Meg’s room toward his own chambers, ignoring the sparse glances from a few of the other staff and Ashley’s begs and pleas of mercy. He didn’t stop until he was through his own door, pushing Ashley in to the room before him and locking the door after himself.

Ryan glared at her, taking in the hunch of her shoulders and streaked face, the large doe eyes that screamed fear and begged for mercy. But, the longer Ryan looked, the less he saw Ashley, it was Meg staring back at him just like she had in the baths, eyes wide in shock and disbelief like a rabbit caught in the light.

“Undress,” Ryan muttered. Ashley whimpered, pleas falling from her lips again as she cowered before the king.

“Do not make me undress you, or you will be walking back to your own quarters as bare as the day you were born,” Ryan warned, feeding slightly of the shock that filled Ashley’s eyes before she reached to the back of her dress attempting to unfasten the knot she had tied there. Ryan watched her, slipping of his shoes and socks as well as taking off his thick jacket, placing it all in a small pile beside his desk. He took a small walk, striding around Ashley as she slowly began to slip the green velvet of the dress over her shoulder, trying to keep herself hidden as much as possible.

“Do. Not.” Ryan warned, stepping behind her and quickly yanking the fabric from her hands, “Play. Games.” he continued pulling the dress down her slim waist and over her hips, “With. Me.” he growled finally, pushing Ashley on to his plush bed as he threw the dress over with his own clothes.

“Roll over, limbs to each corner,” Ryan ordered, breathing deeply as Ashley slowly rolled on to her stomach. Her hands stretched above her, knotting in the multitude of pillows, while her feet stretched toward Ryan, barely hiding the slightly dark spot in her cloth panties. Ryan grinned to himself. He didn’t feel as bad if she was enjoying this as well.

Making his way to a set of drawers he pulled out four lengths of rope, and a red silk sash. He bound the sash around Ashley’s eyes first, knowing that everything other sense would be heightened by the lost of sight, before setting about fastening her hands and feet to the posts of his bed. Ryan admired his handy work each second. Stopping every so often to run his fingers or the rope down Ashley’s exposed skin and enjoying every little squeak and wiggle that the slight touch enticed from her.

 

“Why are you here Ashley?” he asked, his fingers gliding across the smooth brown leather riding crop in his hands. Ashley voice trembled as she spoke, her blind face turning toward the sound of Ryan’s voice.

“Because, I questioned you,” she answered, Ryan had hoped for her slip up, smacking the inside of her thigh with the crop causing her to squeal and attempt to move from the vulnerable position. But Ryan’s ropes held tight, biting against her skin slightly but only when she struggled.

“Who did you question?” Ryan asked again.

“My Grace, I’m sorry, I questioned my grace, my king, I overstepped,” Ashley begged. Ryan smiled, running a hand over Ashley’s backside and thigh, soothing the warm flesh. 

“And why should I not be questioned?” Ryan asked, his voice dark with promise as the riding crop skimmed across Ashley’s bare backside. 

“Because-because you are the king and nothing should- nothing should be kept from you,” Ashley stammered feeling the wetness growing between her thighs as the riding crop brushed her white panties. She gasped as Ryan leant toward her his hands skimming her corseted waist while he kissed his way across her butt and thighs. 

Ryan smiled as Ashley attempted to raise her hips to meet his lips, his hands grasping the top of her underwear and pulling roughly. The fabric split easily between his hands, revealing pale domes of flesh that he grasped at roughly, kneading them in his hands while his mouth moved toward Ashley’s wet centre the sweetness of her drawing him in as he linked up in, revelling in the shaky gasp that shook through Ashley’s body. Ryan hummed in appreciation feeling himself growing hard against the side of the bed.

Continuing his meal of Ashley’s sweet centre, he removed his kilt letting it thud to the floor before wrapping a hand around himself, gathering the small amount of precum that had already begun to gather on the head of his penis.

“Fuck,” he whispered in to Ashley’s thigh, rocking in to his own hand he looked up Ashley’s body where her head was tilted down toward him her mouth agape in pleasure. With a small smirk, Ryan pushed himself up moving toward the head of the bed pressing a testing finger between her lips, a groan escaping him as she suckled it greedily. Ryan climbed beside her pressing a pillow beneath her head before pushing the fleshy tip of his member beside his finger, a shaky moan pushing her mouth open and allowing Ryan full entry. 

Ashley choked slightly, the hardness and girth of the King’s member striking the back of her throat and continuing its assault on her tonsils as her thrust mercilessly toward her. A hand clamped firmly at the back of her head preventing her from pulling away.

With the ropes still in place Ryan had her under his full control, pushing her until tear stains began seeping through the red sash covering her eyes. Ryan felt himself growing close, his nails scrapping against the wood of his bed post. He slowed just enough to be able to unfasten one of Ashley’s hands turning her on to her back slightly and pressing the arm down with his knee, continuing to thrust as he yanked the sash from Ashley’s eyes, forcing him to look at her as he unloaded down her throat, a hand covering her nose and throat preventing her from doing anything but swallowing his cum. 

“Clean me,” he ordered huskily once Ashley had regained a small amount of breath, pressing his softening member against her lips once again. Through tear filled eyes Ashley sucked and cleaned her king’s penis. “Good girl,” he purred, running a hand through her damp hair before moving to grab a pair of underwear from his drawer. 

Making his way toward the bed, Ryan silently unfastened the ropes from Ashley’s feet and remaining hand, gave her her dress, and unlocked the door. Sheepishly Ashley stood, trying to ignore the sting radiating from her ankles and wrists. She kept her head down as she passed the king, fearful for what might happen if she looked at him.

“Lets try, not to make this a regular occurrence Jenkins,” Ryan murmured. Ashley nodded, stepping out in to the cold dark of the corridor as the door was closed on her back. She moved silently back to her own quarters, refusing to answer Mica’s questions about her whereabouts as she wrapped herself in the thin blanket and descended in to an uneasy, dreamless sleep.


End file.
